What do men feel when a woman cries? I think I’m beginning to get an idea, and it’s not comfortable.
Just a week after I moved into my new place, I was hard at work, writing lesson plans for the marathon English lessons I was going to be giving at the airport form my new job. It was exhausting work, mostly because it just involved so much thinking… and pondering, and hesitating, and re-thinking. Oy! Because I hadn’t worked in five years, and because I was going to be observed the first day on the job, I wanted to make sure that everything went absolutely perfectly, and that meant timing everything just right, integrating all the specific needs of the air traffic controllers into the lesson plan, including some relevant grammar points, preteaching new vocabulary, and tying everything up with a production exercise at the end. (I’ll bet you never thought that teaching language was so complicated, did you?)
By 11 p.m., I still had a long way left to go, and only one day left to do it in, but I was so exhausted that I thought I could do a better job if I went to sleep and got up early Sunday morning to finish it off. So, that’s what I did. Not 15 minutes after I turned the light off, I heard my flatmate, The Transformer (TT) come home from work. She banged around in the kitchen for a few minutes, and I was too tired to even get annoyed about it. Then, I heard her knocking softly on my door. There was no way I was getting up to chat when I was so tired, so I just kept quiet and ignored the knock, hoping she would get the idea that I was asleep. That’s when I heard my door open.
I couldn’t believe it. I’ve lived with a lot of people before, and nobody has ever breached the sanctity of the closed bedroom door before… and if you know anything about me, it’s that you just don’t fuck with my sleep. That’s sacred. So, I was already annoyed when I gave out a little grunt, hoping she would take the hint, realize I was sleeping and go away. But no. She ventured a step or two into the room and asked if I was sleeping. I got up and staggered toward the door to see what she wanted.
“I’m lonely,” she said. I felt a sudden urge to pee and motioned her into my room while I went to the bathroom. When I came out, she had gone back to her room, but I was awake now, and my curiosity was piqued. I also felt like I wanted to be a good friend, and honor my commitment to the Most Important Person in the World. So, I went and got her, and brought her back to my room to talk. I sat on my bed, and she surprised me by sitting on the floor, even though there are about three or four chairs in my room.
“I’m lonely,” she said, and began to cry. “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be in there… alone. I don’t want to sleep alone. Can I sleep with you?”
I knew what this was about. She’d told me that her reason for coming to Prague two weeks ago was that her girlfriend of 10 years had broken up with her. She still worshipped this girl. And, in spite of that, I felt from the beginning that she was developing a crush on me, and her request to sleep with me more or less confirmed it.
I have to admit that I had been toying with the idea, but wasn’t inclined to rush into anything for what I considered a very important reason. Anyone who has had a ten year relationship, and especially someone who is on the rebound from said relationship is not suitable dating material for me. I’m a menace to people like that. I am a confirmed commitment-phobe, not only with relationships, but with everything. I get bored with jobs, with homes, with cities, with countries.. I can’t even commit to a selection off the menu in a restaurant! So, when I recognize that someone is looking for the long haul, I back off, unless I’ve gotten to know that person very well, and think that I might be able to finally make a go of it, but I’ve never had a relationship last for more than a couple of years, and most of them have been seriously shorter than that. So, to just experiment with my sexuality (I’ve never been with a woman before) at the risk of her getting emotionally attached when it might not have staying power for me, would be emotional irresponsibility in the extreme on my part. I just wasn’t willing to do that.
And now, with her sitting on the floor of my room crying, all of the sexual tension that had been building up during the week I’d known her, dissipated instantly. That confidence that had initially attracted me was gone. That can happen to anyone, but this was way too early in our “friendship” for me to take it all in as a part of the whole. Suddenly, to me, she was her neediness. Suddenly, I felt pressure, obligation, all the things that make me suffocate. I didn’t want her happiness to depend on me.
I tried to talk to her about how she was feeling and why she was feeling so lonely. She remarked that I am all in my head while she is all in her heart. I nodded with recognition. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. It always feels like a criticism, whether people mean it that way or not, because I’d rather be a more feeling person. But I’m better with words.
She felt awkward and got up to go. I got up to, and she threw her arms around me in one of those A-frame hugs that women are wont to do. I knew she was holding herself back, and because I hate the A-frame, and I feel like, if you’re going to hug, you might as well hug, I pulled her closer to me and hugged her back, rubbing her back and trying my best to comfort her, but I felt clumsy and inadequate as she stroked the back of my head. I couldn’t find it within myself to turn this into a romantic encounter… not only because I didn’t feel it, but also because I didn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability. And then, there was the feeling of hugging a woman… even this woman who claims to be a man trapped in a woman’s body. S/he just felt like a wisp of smoke… no substance… weak… like a child. And I felt like a man. Here it was again.. maybe lfbno7 was right?
I invited her to sit next to me on the bed so we could talk, even though talking wasn’t what she wanted to do. I told her that I felt like I was the man and she was the woman.
“I was born with this body,” she defended herself.
“It’s not that,” I told her. “It’s your energy. You have the energy of a child.”
She was surprised to hear it. I told her that I didn’t always feel that way with her, but in this moment, I felt like a mother comforting a child, or like a man comforting a woman. Mind you, this entire conversation took place in a combination of Polish and Czech, neither of which I have any handle on, so communication was sketchy at best.
She eventually offered to let me get some sleep, and I took her up on her offer, explaining how much work I had to do, and how I was going to be observed on my first day. She had apparently given up on the idea of sleeping with me. After she left, I turned my light off and lay down to sleep. She was banging around in the kitchen some more, and I couldn’t really interpret the sounds I was hearing, but at first, it sounded like she was rattling around in the utensils, and then it almost sounded as if she were moving furniture.
My mind was filled with memories of my early days in Mexico… my young boyfriend and his propensity toward suicide. For nearly two months straight, I had gotten nearly no sleep, between waking up in the middle of the night to literally wrestle the knife out of his hands (and he fought back so much that it often took hours), or to chase him down to the river and stop him from throwing himself off the bridge. I told myself that I was projecting. I told myself that I wasn’t responsible for her actions. Then, I told myself that I had to get up and check it out. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t.
Her door was closed, and I knocked hesitantly. She bade me to enter, and I did. She was sitting in front of her table with some food. I told her I had heard some sounds and was afraid that she might be doing something bad. She laughed and said that she’d been opening a can of peas. (Yet another house without a can opener… and the knives here are dull!)
We chatted for a while, and she noticed that I was standing and invited me to sit down next to her on her bed, which I did. She said that it was better when our eyes were on an equal level. I agreed, and asked her, why then, had she sat on the floor in my room. She said she didn’t want to sit on my bed. I asked why. She said,
“Because you’re lovely.”
She added that she would have wanted to kiss me. Then she asked if she could kiss me, and I told her,
“Not now.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Maybe sometime when it’s more natural.”
But to tell the truth, I didn’t know if it was ever going to be natural enough. The tension had been broken. She’d gotten to easy. She wasn’t a challenge anymore. Once lost, could that ever be regained? I doubted it. And what do these thoughts say about me? What would I say or think if a guy expressed the same thoughts?
I went to sleep and didn’t see much of her for the next few days because of our conflicting work schedules. There was a night when she wanted me to go out to watch country dancing with her, but I had taught all day and then done some apartment hunting, so I was beat, and I declined. Instead of going herself, with the friend who had invited her, she stayed home with me, for the little bit of time I could give her before I had to turn in.
Last night, after my second day on the job, I was exhausted again (I have to get up at 5:45 am to get there on time). She invited me to go to a club, but in addition to being really tired, I’m just really not into clubs. She told me it was not a typical club and that I would like it, but I just couldn’t get myself awake enough to think about going out. So, she suggested that we stay in and make our own club… with our own music, etc. I told her okay, as long as it was quiet music. I didn’t really feel like doing anything. Just wanted to be alone. I didn’t like this feeling of obligation to spend time with her all of a sudden. Doesn’t this seem ironic after I spent the whole summer feeling so lonely and chasing after all those pirates to no avail? That’s pretty much how it is with me. I need to be completely in charge of my own life. Can’t stand to have to live up to other people’s expectations.
She told me to relax, and that she had a surprise for me. Later, she came in with a bottle of wine and poured us two big tumblers full (we don’t have wine glasses). I told her she was crazy to give me so much, and that I wasn’t going to drink it all. I went to get a smaller glass to pour it into. She also brought in a bowl of crackers. I recognized that this was all a financial sacrifice on her part, and winced at the thought of how important she was making me.
While we sat there and talked, she remarked that I was mysterious, and that I had many secrets. I laughed and told her I didn’t have any secrets. She could ask whatever she wanted. Instead of asking questions, she brought in a small painting canvas stretched over cardboard and suggested that we do some art therapy. She told me to draw something. What on earth was I going to draw? Anything, she said.
While she busied herself looking at my Czech language book, I started sketching, and what came out was a drawing of my cat with a halo around her head, and a ray of light slanting off to the right from the halo. She had angel’s wings and I drew a heart on her chest. Then, I drew 17 different kinds of flowers, to represent the 17 different varieties of wildflowers that I buried with her. I’ll have to explain the symbolism of all this in another post, but I explained it to TT, and told her how my cat had sacrificed her life so that I could have my freedom. It brought tears to TT’s eyes. For myself, I knew that if I let myself feel the story, I would be in tears, too, but I didn’t want to get vulnerable with her, so I kept my thoughts divorced from my words.
TT told me that she was experiencing so many feelings after hearing this story. As usual, she didn’t want to express her feelings with words. Words, it seems, are not her thing. Then, she went on at length about how much she was attracted to me, and that I was like a magnet for her. She couldn’t tell me why. She added that she felt like a teenager around me, and that she usually isn’t like this… that she’s usually just the opposite. She said she was falling in love with me, and I told her that she doesn’t know me. She said she recognizes my energy. I didn’t encourage her, and I could feel her pain. I don’t want to be responsible for her pain. I’m not responsible for it, but I feel like I am, and I don’t like the feeling of obligation that comes along with that.
She asked if I wanted to go to sleep, and I told her I did. The wine had hit me like a ton of bricks. She asked if we could sleep together, and I told her no. I felt her pain again, but she was a man about it. She went off to brush her teeth, and I got ready for bed. I opened my door to wish her goodnight. I wished we could go back to the way things were the first night we met and we had so much fun and just enjoyed each other without any expectations. I guess you can never go back.
I’m going to have to find a way… soon… to tell her directly, but gently… that it’s just not going to happen for us. And I’m going to have to take a look at why I’m only attracted to a back walking away. I spend so much energy whining that there’s not any love for me… but when it comes my way, I question it, and I reject it. Is it my destiny to be alone in this world? It sure seems that way. But still, being alone is much more palatable to me than feeling suffocated. Isn’t there a happy medium? God, do I miss Pegleg!
